Credit for the flame of this story goes to wordslinger and her lovely depictions of partners Jellal and Laxus

Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, harsh language and the potential for allusions to non-consensual sexual interactions. Multiple parings. Substance abuse. A plethora of other sins. Rated M, mature audiences only, please.

Cardinal

"The shrink said they're entitled and highly intelligent. When they put their victims in these poses, its done with care and love."

"Psychobabble," Laxus griped.

"Yeah. Maybe, but it's a place to start," Jellal replied. He traded the crime scene photos for his coffee. He couldn't look at them for too long. Homicide detectives saw a lot, sure, there was something about seeing these girls twisted up with a crown of thorns digging into their skin that was unsettling, though.

Laxus took the photos from his partner and poured over them again. "This guy's more fucked than your average fucked, eh? All of his victims are escorts, all of them raped, all of them doused in distilled water and then decorated with a crown of thorns and left in positions of prayer. Class A psycho."

"That expert says he's repressed. He thinks these girls are walking the wrong path or something."

"While he's fucking them."

Jellal looked around the mostly empty coffee shop and wished instead that they'd gone to Be Frank, the bar not so far away from the 19th precinct. It was too early in the day for beer. 'Fuck' belonged more in a place like that, though. "Seems like. Maybe he hates himself and is taking it out on them."

"You're talking to that shrink too much."

Yep.

"I've worked a lot of cases, man, but this…"

Jellal shrugged. "You don't want to do it?"

"Don't have much of a choice, do we?"

Not since it was shoved off on them, no.

Laxus didn't need it spelled out. Captain said Go and they went. "Where do we start?"

"Pleasure houses seem like a good place," Jellal said finally. "We'll hit the high-end ones first, see what we can scare up on the victim's last few hours of work."

"She wasn't working when she was done in," Laxus felt obligated to remind him.

"No. But someone'll know something."

Laxus drank his own coffee, thoughtful. "You know any place worth their salt isn't going to be forthcoming. Not about their clientele."

"They will be," was Jellal's only reply. He dropped some money on the table for their late lunch.

"I got the next one," Laxus replied, joining him in donning his suit jacket and his tan trench coat. Winter and early spring was one of the few times he didn't mind the monkey suit because it was one of the few times he wasn't sweating through it.

Erza had three rules.

She never slept with anyone she loved. She never let the men get rough. And she never kissed them.

Two of those rules this man tried to violate almost on a daily. He wanted her to love him. He wanted her to kiss him.

They often did.

When that happened, when they got so insistent that she knew it was past time to break it off, she made herself unavailable.

As she told him tonight, she was busy.

He didn't believe her.

He stood outside the Barrel with a fistful of money and a pantsful of testosterone, thinking that girls like her did what they did because money talked and bullshit walked.

He was kind of right.

But rules were what made the world go 'round and Erza followed hers flawlessly. She would not feed into a demented illusion some men tried to build for her. She wasn't the type of girl to bring home to mother. Was not. She didn't need a saviour, though men (and women, she supposed, but more often than not it was someone with a rough face and a dick between their legs) spouted 'I'll take care of you' bullshit.

She loved her job. This work could be dangerous and it paid well. It was thrilling most days. The Barrel only accepted a certain kind of clientele. Every single one of them was interviewed by the attending Matriarch. Things like careers, cleanliness, even appearance and self-care played a role in their admittance. The Barrel was more than just a pleasure house. It was a brand. It held the finest women and men. The happiest. Everyone was there because they wanted to be. People saved money to go to college, people did it on the side because they liked to be loved.

Everyone had their reasons.

Erza liked the power. Erza liked the vanity.

Her ego was as large as it was delicate. While she didn't want the men to tell her they loved her, she did want them to look at her in a certain way, the way that told her that in their altercations she had all the control. There was a time in her life when she'd had none of it. She'd vowed then never to be that person again, the one that cowered and cried and got taken away from everything she knew.

She realized that her breaths were too short. Erza breathed deeply, held it, and after exhaling and not gasping like a fish out of water, approached the man named Dan. His eyes were pinned on her skin. The dress she wore tonight was more modest than most of her other clothing—tonight hadn't been that kind of night. She'd been escorting millionaire Haru Mikazuchi to an opera. He was too old to do much with her, more wrinkle than man in his ninetieth year. He held her hand and bought her expensive champagne, treated her like a lady straight out of the forties. The only thing he asked was that she wear a ruby-encrusted necklace and allow him to kiss her on the cheek when their night was done. He was sweet, a nice change from some other, more adventurous clientele.

Dan's eyes clung to her bosom. Somehow, she felt indecently exposed. She tugged her scarf more firmly over her shoulders to cover the V her dress made between her breasts, then crossed her white-gloved arms.

"Mr. Andrews." He was blocking the laneway between the Barrel and the apartment buildings where its employees rented. There was no getting out of saying something. Well. She supposed she could say nothing. That was a valid option. Rude, though.

"Erza. I thought you were busy this evening?" Dan had a pleasant voice. High-bred. Every syllable he spoke was pronounced with a flare that she found endearing first but now annoying.

"I was," she replied.

"Are you returning to the Barrel?"

"It's late."

A spark came to his eye; she wished she'd said yes. "Not so late. That's a lovely dress."

"Thank you. Excuse me." Erza stepped around him, heels digging into the cracks between the cobblestones and almost tripping her. She recovered as gracefully as she knew how before Dan ever had the opportunity to grab her arm and steady her. He still did.

"Thank you." Erza started away but was pulled up short again. Dan held her firmly.

"I wouldn't mind some company tonight, Erza. It's been a long day. An hour of your time."

Erza summoned patience and met his eyes so there was no mistake. "I told you I no longer wish to see you."

He flinched some. "Why?"

"You know why."

"That stuff I said that day… I was messed up, Erza. We were drinking too much scotch; I didn't mean what I said."

He was drinking too much scotch; she'd been near sober, which meant she remembered clearly what he said. 'I love you. Quit the Barrel and come live here.' in his pompous little beach house where he could squirrel her away from his mother and father long enough to get her a new identity so they'd never know he'd brought an escort home.

"You're lying to yourself, Daniel. We need to not see each other anymore."

He frowned. "I'll pay you double."

"No, thank you."

"Triple, Erza."

"No."

"Then I won't pay you at all, just quit here and come with me. I'll provide everything you need."

"And this is the fucking problem." She pulled out of his grasp rather without ceremony and started on her way again. He was hot on her heels.

"Erza, please—"

"I don't need taken care of, Dan. I take care of myself."

"You do such horrible work. You're above this."

Of course he'd say something like that. Calm. Be calm. "Leave me alone."

"Erza, please." He grabbed her again and held her with fingers tight enough to make her arm ache.

She reeled on him. "Release me."

His fingers loosened.

She was on her way again.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Wait. Take me to your room in the Barrel." Hell he was persistent. "I'll be silent the whole time."

Erza turned around and found him illuminated in a sliver of moonlight. "Never. Never again, Dan. This ends here. If you harass me again, I'll have you banned from the Barrel." She whipped around on her heel, feeling like she'd accomplished something, and approached the faded brick façade that was the Barrel's apartments. They weren't the largest in the city; they were arguably the oldest, however. The stairs leading into them were concrete and broken, the ashtray drilled into the pale bricks was rusty and of questionable sturdiness. The only thing in good repair was the heavy steel door barring entry to any without a key. She got hers out of the black clutch bag she carried.

A hand closed around her wrist before she could put the key in the slot. Erza's heart jumped; not her body, she wouldn't let him see he'd caught her off guard. She turned to face Dan. This close, she could see the freckles on his nose and the spark of drunk in his eye. No surprise. He was always binging while burning his parent's money.

Speaking of money, he had a wad of bills in his hand, one of the largest Erza had ever seen. "This is more than enough. And this way, you won't have to cut it, Erza. Tante Rosemary won't know you're doing business on the side if we don't enter the Barrel."

Some people did do that. It was stupid and dangerous in Erza's opinion. Case and point here. "That's not how I work."

"I paid you enough. Tonight it is."

She pushed him. Sometimes, that was the only language that mattered. Dan stumbled back. He was drunk enough that he hit the brick wall on the opposite side of the entryway. His money went everywhere, fluttering to the ground like leaves. He sat there for a moment, stunned. Erza worked her key in the lock again. The door clicked. She pulled it open with purpose.

And had it torn out of her hands. Dan looked more manic than before. He took her wrist and used his body to bully her against the wall. "Stop, I'm trying to talk to you."

"Get away from me," she hissed with all the venom she could muster.

He was unaffected. "Maybe I do love you, Erza. So what? Quit here and—"

She pushed him. Who knew he'd be so… limp? It was the alcohol making him difficult to remove, more like a sack of bricks than a man with any sort of balance to keep him from draping on her. He tried to kiss her. She turned her face away and pushed again, this time finding a sensitive spot between his ribs to inflict some pain to help the process.

Dan hissed and called her something terrible. Erza worked her hand up between them and slapped him without thinking. He was violating her most important rule and that was much too far.

The sound resonated off the bricks and the concrete, punctuating the strained situation and somehow ramping it up to new levels. Dan's face, once it had lost its shock, moved into the realms of rage. He didn't hit her. He did grab her face, though, and push her roughly against the bricks. Her skin abraded and split open. It wasn't very bad, not even the worst she'd ever had, it did hurt, though, and it was startling. She'd been treated that way before and it wasn't something she cared to relive.

"Don't ever hit me. I pay you too much, Erza. I—"

She lifted her hand into the weave she'd made of her hair and grabbed the weapon she'd had specially made for just in case moments like this. When she pulled out the modified brass knuckles, her entire do came undone in a wash of scarlet that smelled like jasmine. She hit Dan square in the jaw, tearing open his skin, and then the air smelled like iron. She kept going, despite the fact that he lifted his arms and begged her to stop, only ceasing when he was on the ground, unconscious.

Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she stepped over his prone form and entered her apartment building. She made sure to pull the door firmly shut behind herself so Dan couldn't get any smart ideas and follow her inside. Not that she thought he'd be moving anywhere. Not anytime fast.

The second floor held three apartments. She opened number seven with her key and came in. Her roommate looked up from where she sat on the couch in a yellow nighty, feet up on the coffee table while she painted her toenails ice blue.

"Hey, Erza, how did—" Mirajane trailed off when she saw her. "What the hell happened?"

Erza lifted the hand she still clutched the brass knuckles in and touched her blood-damp cheek.

"Did Mr. Mikazuch do that to you? Did you tell Tante Rosemary? Did—"

"It was Dan," Erza replied shortly.

Mira's mouth went flat. She put the top on her nail polish and stood, crossing the room to Erza's side. She touched the area with fingernails that were still damp; she was careful. "It looks really bad."

"He looks worse," Erza replied.

"Are you going to tell Tante Rosemary?"

"I will."

"And the police?"

Erza sighed. "I should, I suppose, before the maggot gets up and spins his own tale."

Mira took Erza's clutch from her hands and the brass knuckles, careful with the blood. "I'll get on the phone; you go get cleaned up. I'll come in and help you in a minute."

Erza smiled. "Thanks."

Her skin stung. Like she thought, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was bad enough, though. Bad enough that she wouldn't be working for a few days until the cuts healed and the swelling went down. Unless she piled on the makeup of course, but she wasn't so interested in doing that. She could take the hit, she didn't have any impending expenses and she had some money saved. Sharing an apartment meant that she had that much more money at the end of every pay.

The door opened without being rapped on and Mira entered in a cloud of yellow silk. She came to the vanity with a cotton swab that smelled like alcohol and some Polysporin to help sooth the area, putting her butt on the dresser, her legs between Erza's, and leaned in. Her fingers were light and gentle. It still burned. The Polysporin soothed.

"I'm sorry this happened." Mira was softer than she used to be. She was on the verge of tears. "Some people are horrible."

"Some."

She rubbed the ointment in using slow circles. When she was done, she tucked Erza's hair behind her ear and told her, "The police are on their way. They'll probably want to talk to you."

Erza looked down at the track pants and tank top she wore, considering changing. She was too tired for that. So what if some stranger didn't see her perfectly groomed?

Mira saw through her. "You're beautiful no matter what you're in."

Erza's lips twitched. "Thanks."

Mira grabbed the soft toothed comb off Erza's dresser and came around behind her. There she gathered Erza's hair over her shoulder and ran the brush through her locks, breaking up the curls with each stroke. Erza watched her progress in the mirror.

"As soon as I met Dan, I knew he was clingy," Erza mused.

Mira's hand slowed but she didn't stop. "Yeah?"

"He just had this way of looking at me. He was needy. If I told him no before hand…"

Mira stopped brushing so she could lean down and wrap her arms around Erza's shoulders. The girl's hair smelled like honey and vanilla. Her lips were moist at the edge of Erza's, tasting like blueberry chap stick. "Don't blame yourself. People have the capacity to be a lot of things. Dan just chose to be his worst self."

"Someone didn't go quietly."

No. Not at all. Jellal stepped over the area splattered with blood, he dug the key from his pocket that one Tante Rosemary had given him. It fit the lock like a glove as he suspected. The door opened silently on well-greased hinges.

"How much do you think every other streetwalker would give to have a setup like this?" Laxus mused.

Prostitution wasn't illegal in Magnolia, as long as you were affiliated with a residence like this. Given the pay and the benefits and the safety this kind of set up offered, sometimes the competitions were so ruthless, blood spilled.

"Too much." Jellal hiked up his utility belt before ascending the stairs to the second floor.

"Hey, you think we're going to get lucky?"

"Hm? Do I think this will lead us to our guy?" Jellal clarified. "Don't know. Guys get rough all the time." Mostly it went unreported because in the places where it happened those girls weren't supposed to be walking around. Places like the Barrel had bouncers with permits to carry to prevent any 'accidents.'

"Let's hope." Laxus knocked on apartment seven then leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. It was a stance he usually took for intimidation; tonight, Jellal thought he was striving for 'cool and collected' instead.

The door was pulled open a second later by a woman with hair so blonde, it was white. Platinum, his mind supplied. He was more concerned with the scarlet behind her, though. He didn't need the other woman to turn away from where she looked out the window to recognize her. She did anyway and it was like a punch in the gut.

"Come in," Platinum's voice was distant. "And thanks for showing up so quickly, I—"

Erza's eyes bypassed her friend and Laxus, though the other man filled the doorway, and locked with Jellal's. He felt a little twist in his guts that had something to do with her gaze, and something to do with the scrape on her cheek.

He didn't faun over her. She hated that. Besides, he hadn't even said hello, though he had stepped into the apartment that smelled like creams and perfumes and incense. All of them reminded him of her. Olfactory memory was the longest and he was drowning in the scents. A very different Erza on a very different night tried to slip into his mind.

"—Dreyar, and this is my partner, Detective Fernandez," came Laxus' familiar rumble, perforating Jellal's dangerous dance with shadow and tequila.

Erza was faster at coming unstuck and acting natural. As Jellal suspected. She was the mistress of lies. "Why are homicide detectives investigating an assault?"

Jellal cleared his throat and spoke over Laxus' response. "We think it might be related to another case we're working."

Platinum's eyes got large. "Those killings? Oh god, do you think Dan is responsible for those? I always thought he was a cretin—"

Laxus held up his hand before she could get rolling. "We're not saying anything. Let's just stick with the facts."

Jellal made himself useful, pulling his notebook from his utility belt and moving into the apartment. It wasn't what he'd imagined when he dared picture the place Erza flitted to after. There was a couch and a coffee table, a small white carpet in front of the former, and a porpoise incense burner on the window sill that didn't quite cover up the faint smell of marijuana.

He sat on the couch.

"By all means," Erza muttered, "Take a seat."

"Join me and tell me what happened."

Her brows twitched together. She was more stubborn now than when she'd first moved to the city and nearly refused him. The heavy look of her roommate and Laxus folded her like tepid metal, all weird angles and sharp edges. She'd cooperate, just not as fluidly as Jellal hoped.

"So what do you think now?" Laxus asked as they took the stairs two at a time and came out into the early hours of the morning.

Jellal breathed in the smell of moist soil and spring rain. The storm hadn't come yet but it was well on its way. "This isn't our guy."

"Nah."

This was amateur work. Unrequited love gone sour. Their killer was more refined than that. He didn't get sloppy and try to force girls on the steps of their apartment.

"Either way, Dan Andrew's got an escort waiting for him when he makes it home," Jellal said. "We'll have our answers soon as he sobers up."

"Tell me about that redhead."

He kept his eyes focused on the Barrel across the laneway. "What about her?"

"Was she the one? With the tequila and—"

"No."

Laxus snorted. "Alright, Hoss, whatever you say."

Jellal grabbed the Barrel's door and tore it back, bringing them into a world that was red crushed velvet curtains, bone-white walls, black floors. While it looked ordinary enough in the main office, the place held a quality that was dripping with sin. You could buy quite a lot here in the Barrel if you found the right person for the right price.

Jellal crossed the floor to the black desk where Tante Rosemary sat in her furs with her black-as-night wig and her red, red lips. She wore something red that she spilled from in every possible way. She was beautiful like an apple on the precipice of rot. Too sweet. Too soft. And yet also somehow perfect.

For all her rounded edges, there was also some mettle in her. You didn't successfully run one of the most popular pleasure houses in Magnolia because you were a pushover.

She stood from her red chair, away from her laptop and smiled a winner's smile. "Detectives Dreyar and Fernandez. Were my girls quite cooperative?"

Jellal slid the apartment's key across the counter. "Yes. Thank you, Tante. We've got a few of our own out looking for Daniel Andrews. I'm sure he's limping home, but if he comes back this way give us a call." He slid his card over the counter, too. "That's my direct line."

"It's late."

He didn't tell her homicide detectives didn't sleep as well as they should. He smiled widely, giving her his own version of a 'winner's grin' and said some bullshit about wanting everyone to be safe.

"That's very sweet of you."

She wasn't going to think so soon.

Laxus leaned against the counter and said, "How would you feel about giving us a list of your clients, along with that background check you do on them, eh?"

Tante Rosemary's lips fell. "That's confidential."

"We're conducting an investigation. You know girls have been killed, right?"

"Are you saying that you think one of my clients did it? Impossible. I've interviewed them all myself."

"I just want our psychologist to look 'em over with a professional eye," Laxus said.

"They have been. I'm a trained psychologist, Detective. I take offence."

Laxus looked taken aback; Jellal wasn't, he'd actually read the pleasure house casefiles before coming here.

"If you want my files, you'll need a warrant. All of my clients are very high-profile. They demand a certain discretion from me."

Laxus huffed air from his nose, and stood straight. Jellal grabbed his elbow before he could storm out. "Come now, Tante, we can be reasonable."

"I know my rights, Detective, and the rights of my clients."

Jellal didn't like to do it to the Matriarchs but he applied some pressure. "Last week one of my friends in the Health Unit said the Barrel was late in getting their worker's physicals done."

She glowered. "That's a blatant lie."

Laxus hesitated for only a second before joining in. "I don't think he's saying that because he thinks you're not obeying the rules, Tante. It's just Heath Unit's real unorganized. They lose things all the time."

Jellal screwed up his face thoughtfully. "Might take a week or two to sort out. Doctors are busy."

Tante Rosemary's expression got hard. "Does Tante Alba know you treat other Matriarchs so?"

Jellal kept his poker face in place and betrayed nothing.

"You can't blackmail me," Tante Rosemary said when she realized she wasn't going to get anything that way.

"Blackmail?" Laxus said, "I think my partner just wants to make sure that we're operating on the same page. We want everyone to be safe, right, pal?" He smacked Jellal's shoulder.

"Right." Jellal smiled. He knew it came out as cold as he'd hoped because Tante Rosemary withered. "Girls are dying, Tante. It hasn't been in your establishment yet, but one of your best has been attacked. For the sake of your reputation, I think you should give me those names. Your clientele would be happy knowing that you're cooperating with the law."

She wrung her hands. "Do you really think he could be the Cardinal?"

"What?"

"That's what the papers are calling this killer. The Cardinal. The holy man."

"He's no holy man," Laxus bit out.

"I'm not here to pass judgment," she replied.

No, not her. "The names, Tante Rosemary, please."

"I can only give you the ones from this week. It's a breech of confidentiality," she said before Jellal could argue. "God knows the police aren't subtle. I won't have to worry about a clean herpes bill, my rooms will be empty because anyone that can pay won't, too afraid of being roasted by the media."

"We'll be discrete," Jellal said.

"Pardon me, Detective, but like hell you will be."

"We can work with a week," Laxus said before Jellal could push it and burn to ash something good.

"Very well." She hurried to get a ledger from beneath her desk.

"Ever heard of a hard drive?" Laxus asked.

"Computers leave traces. Papers can be burned," she replied with her nose in the leather-bound book. She tore out a page and handed it over.

Jellal took it, folding it four times and tucking it into his pocket without looking. "Thank you for your cooperation."

"I hope your investigation leads you elsewhere," she replied.

Thinking of scarlet, Jellal said, "Me, too."

Mira turned off the lights and crossed to her own bed in the single room she and Erza shared, using the light of a SpongeBob nightlight to guide her way. Erza was sitting on her bed, staring at the wall and had been for the last half hour.

"Do you want to sleep with me tonight?" Mira suggested. Part of the offer was because she wanted to console a shaken Erza. A lot of it, though, was because she was sickly fascinated by Erza's penchant for violence. The danger she carried just below the surface. Mira couldn't stop looking for it.

Erza told her no. It wasn't long after, though, that she padded across the room. Mira was waiting for her, inviting her into sheets that smelled like laundry detergent. Erza didn't taste like lipstick anymore; she'd wiped it all away. Now it was toothpaste and mouthwash. Beneath her tank top and her shorts, her skin was silk. Her knuckles were bruised and rough. The redhead relaxed, counting on Mira to take her mind away from ugly places. Mira, likewise, counted on Erza to do the opposite.